Denial
by Minesweeper62
Summary: Michael Slade arrives at camp just like any other demigod. Except he doesn't believe in the gods, and he's sure Camp Half-Blood is a hoax. That's really a problem when he holds the key to winning the war and defeating the Titans. Pre TLO


**Kay, dudes, I am back! (Yes I will call you dude for absolutely no reason. I know 97% of you are all girls, but, oh well. Also often used will be buddies. Get used to it, it's just a habit). Now, unless this is the absolute first PJO story you have ever read, you've run into one of THEM. The typical demigod cliché - A demigod (usually a girl) comes to camp and basically recreates Percy's adventures. Sure they have their own quest, but it's often the same basic idea in the end they learn that it's okay that they're demigods and they can live normally too! And then they all live happily after, and anyone who has an idea what good writing is face palms.**

**Basically, I DESPISE those. So the other day I was sitting on the couch next to my sister, Carlough, who helped write this story. She was on the computer surfing through communities to read the poor quality of the fan girl stories, as many of them are so laughable. One of the random snippets she read to me was about a demigod who knew so much about Greek Mythology before finding out that she was a demigod because she loved it so much and - you get the point. So she told me, "If you ever make a Percy Jackson story with an OC, you should have them know nothing at all about mythology." And proceeded to come up with random snippets of what could happen and then I was left to piece them into a story. I think it turned out pretty well. And I hope we didn't accidently write one of THOSE stories, so tell me if you think it's turning too much into that and I'll try to change whatever is possible. This takes place after **_**The Battle of the Labyrinth**_**, but before **_**The Last Olympian.**_

**One more thing:**

**This dot is me: . **

**This one is Rick Riordan: .**

**Unfortunately, it's not the same dot. And thus, PJO is not mine. Although, fantastically, the dot on the top (me) owns Michael Slade. That's right, he's MINE. **

**Carlough: And mine! I came up with the name and the idea, so there! :P But we don't own many of the other franchises, movies, books, tv shows, et cetera that will be referenced over the course of the story, including, but not limited to, Lord of the Rings, Star Trek, Star Wars, Hercules, every Hollywood actor/actress/musician/singer/public icon known to man, Disney, Universal Studios, Harry Potter, and Oprah.**

**Now get out of here. It's my turn. And he's only mine. Burn!**

**Denial**

**Chapter 1: Hercules, the most awesomely epic movie the world has ever seen, ever.**

"**Oh God, you're gonna take half of my blood?!" **

Michael Slade woke up. He had no idea where he was, he had no idea what was going on, and he was pretty sure there was a drummer from a rock band banging out a song on the inside of his skull. Of course, classic Michael, his amount of care was nonexistent.

The first thing the fourteen year old boy noticed was that the sun - screw that freaking thing - was already high in the sky and his parents weren't waking him up for the seventh time that morning in a vain attempt to get him ready for school. Maybe he was sick. Oh well. Just in case, he rolled over and went back to sleep, taking absolutely no care at all to see that he was in a totally different place and the last thing he remembered was going _to_ school. Observant, he was not.

So when he woke up again, around four hours later, there was now a dark haired kid standing over him. Not that Michael minded at all, 'cause said kid was doing a fantastic job of blocking that stupid sun. It was fantastic for napping, no more having to worry about that. He attempted to roll over and sleep again, but instead fell off the bed and rolled to a stop at the kid's feet. Deciding that it might finally be time for him to get up for the day, Mike stereotypically stretched and yawned, taking his sweet time to actually stand up. Then he actually saw the face of the kid, which stirred something in his memory. Obviously a pretty big something, 'cause it got him jumping up and getting his lazy ass off of the floor. Because the kid standing next to his bed was _him_.

"Finally, you woke up. It's one in the afternoon already. We picked you up yesterday morning. Gods, you took ages to find. None of the normal signs, except for that strange…power, you've apparently got. The satyr at your school only heard about it, never actually saw it, and no one will tell me what it is. They weren't sure but… you got through the border. What's your name again? Mike Slade…" The boy began paging through a chart that had been on the end of the bed.

Of course he was totally unaware that Mike was pasted to the wall in the farthest corner of the room out of fright. What could he say; he was never one to pretend that he wasn't scared.

"It's Michael," he stuttered out in fear.

"Huh?" The boy looked at him blankly in half-interest.

"The name's Michael," he repeated, a little louder this time, wondering if crazy stalker guy had hearing issues. "Only my peeps on the bowling team get to call me Mike. Along with my poker buddy, Principal Hoover. But to me he's just Jimmy."

"Your 'peeps'?" the boy parroted. Michael nodded numbly; hands quivering in what he would blatantly admit was fear. The other boy nodded back, mostly because he didn't know what to say to the rest of that statement.

"Yeah, Diana - she's my guidance counselor slash bowling partner slash best friend. We have matching shirts and everything. She says I need to make more friends, or something like that. So we joined a bowling league to meet more people. Fifth best in the league, two spots up from last year."

"Please tell me you're kidding," the kid said now, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

Just then a middle-aged man entered the room, or rather rolled into it. He was sitting in a wheelchair, and wheeled himself into the room with apparent ease, as though he had been doing it forever. In fact, though only one of the boys knew it, it had been practically that long.

"Ah, our new arrival," the man stated, and his manner suggested it wouldn't have been appropriate if accompanied by steepled fingers and an evil laugh, followed by a take over the world plan. That confused Mike, who would only think of his words in that particular context. But for that to happen, he would have to be Bond or… Inspector Gadget, maybe. But only, like, 60's Bond, when he was played by Sean Connery. And - News Flash - that was a _long_ shot. "The campers thought you were going to sleep all day. That's what happened yesterday, at least. You're the first new camper we've had in a while, which helps even more now, with so many gone. The Battle of the Labyrinth claimed many, which is the price to pay for defending our camp, sadly."

"Labyrinth… that's like a maze right? Not a maze, please, I have issues with the ones on the kids' menu at Applebee's, but Diana says I should keep trying and eventually they'll make sense. There are just so many lines, going in all different directions, and they're just so _confusing_. This one goes in this direction but then you have three options that all _look_ like they'll lead you in the right direction and then they don't." Sadly, Michael didn't sound like he was joking. While he explained just how horribly confusing mazes are, he made pictures with his hands, just to show the mysterious old guy and not-so-old but equally strange boy what he meant.

The not-really-as-old-looking-as-Michael-thought man leaned over to the dark-haired boy and muttered, "Who in Hades is Diana? Does he mean Artemis?"

"No," the boy stifled a giggle and continued, "She's his guidance counselor, bowling partner, and best friend."

"Yep!" Michael said, momentarily forgetting his fear. "She's the one who takes me to Applebee's and she helps me with the maps! Without Diana, I might never have made it past that nasty third intersection." He shuddered at the mention of that horrendous ordeal.

"But who are you?" Michael asked, narrowing his eyes. Still, he was frightened beyond belief, as the fear came flooding back into his body once he remembered where he was. Who were these crazy people? More importantly, how had Diana ever allowed this to happen to him? She clearly explained everything to him every time he was taken into a new situation, just so things like this wouldn't happen. In new situations, Michael was completely useless and stationary, waiting for someone else to do things. The only alternative was him asking awkward questions. Like when… Well, that's a long story.

"I'm Percy, Percy Jackson," the boy said, and stuck out his hand.

"Dude, one word - bacteria," Michael said, looking at Percy's hand as if shaking it would give him the Black Plague. "Don't you know better? Is this some well-planned murder attempt by my great aunt Victoria again? I've told mom again and again, she _hates_ me! I know it was her fault I got food poisoning last year. Jeffy says it had something to do with all of those weird yellow hot dogs I kept eating, but they were addictive, I mean, you can't blame me for eating them 24/7. Were you responsible for that too?" His eyes flickered accusingly between Percy and the man.

"No Chiron, he is not kidding," Percy said, looking at Michael as though he thought what he was saying was mad. "I'm afraid to ask, but who is 'Jeffy'?"

"He's my stepdad!" Michael explained brightly, and Percy was almost positive that he was bipolar, the way he kept swapping between complete and utter terror and happy to explain everything.

"Jeffy's the best," Michael continued obliviously. "He's been helping my mom get over my growing up. He even convinced her to stop making me hold her hand in public." This last sentence was whispered as if it was some great secret.

"We were sitting in the car in the grocery store parking lot one day, and she said, 'Michael, I'm going to let you stop holding my hand; I feel that you're old enough now. I would still like you to keep one hand on the grocery cart at all times.' I started cheering, 'cause it was such a victory, but then my mom got upset 'cause she thought I was too happy about it and thought that I didn't love her anymore, and she started crying, and I had to hold her while she cried for about ten minutes."

"You must have been a very mature child," Chiron said, thinking that this had all occurred long ago when Michael was very young.

"I'd like to think I'm mature by now."

Chiron slanted the boy a look. "When did this happen?"

"Last Tuesday," the boy replied innocently.

"Ah, I see." No, Chiron really, really didn't.

Percy turned to Chiron and muttered, "I think we know where he gets his, um, _eccentricities_ from now." The man in the wheelchair nodded.

An appalled look spread across Michael's face. "Did you just insult Mommy? That is just so not cool I can't even begin to describe it." He took a deep breath, probably to calm him, and then continued, "Don't blame her for my oddities. That's why I have Diana. They told me I get it from my 'No-Good-Dirty-Lying-Abandoning-Father'." he said this part counting the words off on his fingers, and they got a vibe that he'd repeated it a lot, probably from hearing it often. "Mommy is a little weird, but that's why she has Jeffy."

"Um, all right," said Percy.

"So where did you steal me away to, my lovely kidnappers?" inquired Michael, all infractions against his mother forgotten.

"We didn't kidnap you!" Percy exclaimed in indignant shock.

"Oh yeah? Well then why am I not at school right now, hangin' in Diana's office or discussing new poker techniques with Jimmy or making all the other students think that I'm the school's poetry-writing ghost?"

"You write poetry?" Percy asked disbelievingly.

"Oh sure," Michael said, his happiness returning now. "This one's my best:"

_I once saw a fly_

_In my counselor's office_

_It was old and dead_"

He looked at Percy and Chiron expectantly, as if anticipating them to begin furiously praising his haiku.

Chiron, realizing that an explanation was in order and still weird-ed out, took over from there. "You, Mr. Slade, are at Camp Half-Blood."

"Oh God, you're gonna take half of my blood?!" Michael screamed, gut-wrenching terror returning. "I need that to live! And life is _good_! I like life!"

"Um, not quite." For once in his very, very long life, Chiron was absolutely baffled by a new camper. "Camp Half-Blood is a camp for people like you."

"People like me? Oh, we're being discriminatory now, are we?" Michael placed his hands on his hips the way his mother did when Jeffy told her she was smothering her son. "Because Diana told me that I can be whoever I want to be, and so I will. And you're not killing my hopes and dreams!

"I am in no way being discriminatory," Chiron told the confusing boy. "I am referring to children of the Greek gods."

"The who?" Michael watched the pair blankly. His eyes flickered between the two, as if expecting one to explain what they were talking about.

"You know, from Greek mythology," Percy supplied. Michael continued to stare.

Percy began to list some names that the boy might recognize. "You must have heard about some of the heroes before. There's Theseus, Odysseus, Perseus, Jason, Heracles, or, as he's better known, Hercules-"

"Hercules?!" the boy shouted happily. "You mean like in the awesome Disney movie? I love that one! Are you guys fans too? I knew there had to be something good here! "

Chiron and Percy shared a look. "Not exactly," Percy muttered.

"Well, that's where it all came from. They made up all of those fun stories to go along with the epic Disney cartoon. I don't get how you're _not_ fans. All the cool people are. Diana and I watch it every Friday and analyze the underlying meaning in the fantastically layered plot. I like the part where Hercules gets all of his god powers back and spends time with his parents, who're supreme overlord rulers of everything, and Hades and all of his multi-colored jerks get their comeuppance."

Percy and Chiron exchanged an uneasy look that clearly said, _Uh-oh_. "Um, Mike," Percy tried to start, but he was cut off.

"We've been through this, Percy-of-the-infected-hands," Mike said. "It's Michael unless you're Diana, Jimmy, Mommy, or Jeffy. Which you are not."

"Well, _Michael_," Percy tried, and continued once he received no objections. "Hercules was a demigod, he was the son of Zeus and a mortal."

"I told them Hercules was real! Now I have proof for my college entrance essay! Diana said there would be problems, but she was wrong. That's a first." Michael looked like a four year old on Christmas. Then he frowned. "Would they take a statement from my kidnappers?"

"We _did not kidnap you_!" Percy yelled, frustrated beyond belief. "That cartoon was fabricated and is totally untrue!"

"Hey, no burning the greatest, most epic-tastical cinematic adventure of all time, 'kay? It's not _just_ a movie! There's so much more to it."

"Michael, Percy," Chiron interrupted, as he didn't have all day for this. "Percy, why don't you show young Mr. Slade over here around camp? Once he sees it all, he can't keep denying it." The last sentence was muttered for Percy's ears only. He nodded in response.

"C'mon, Mike - sorry, _Michael_," Percy said, dragging the kid by his arm out the door of the Big House, at the same time yelling, "See ya, Chiron!" over his shoulder.

And so Michael Slade was left at the mercy of his supposed kidnapper, Percy. Hey, that rhymed. 'Cause he really _was_ that skilled.

* * *

**Carlough: And there we have it, the first installment of the epic adventures of Michael Slade. Yes, he's a little off in the head, but then, isn't everyone? Next up, we have fun with Lord of the Rings references! Woot!**

**Get out of here already! You're disturbing the buddies! Go back to your own fandom!**

**C: I'll go back to my _corner_, thank you kindly. Jerk. **Sniffs****

**You don't have a corner. And leave reviews before I kill Michael. I know, I'm a fiend.**

**Review!**


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